


Scary Stories to Tell on Deployment

by KassiopeiaX



Series: Holiday Specials [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Action, Angst, Blood and Gore, Boys In Love, But he's got that smoooolder, Comedy, Compilation, Drama & Romance, Edgeplay, Erotica, Fantasy, Fava beans and chianti, Fluff, Fork-themed horror, Halloween, Halloween Special, Horror, Kink, Kinktober 2018, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Monsters, Mystery, Psychological Horror, Romance, Shorts, The Human Rayce, These hoes ain't loyal, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-13 21:11:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16479839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassiopeiaX/pseuds/KassiopeiaX
Summary: Spooktacular sub Rayce Gunner and the other soldiers tell scary stories around the campfire to distract themselves from the fact that they are maybe - definitely - being stalked by werewolves. Set of short stories.1. Bone Apple Teeth: The suburbs SUCK. Average-Joe Rayce is just trying to make the white-picket-fence-life work for his adorable, perfect husband, but he can't take one more evening of pretending to be someone he's not. Their sexy and mysterious dinner guest might be just the escape he needs... Or a dark fantasy he won't live to regret.2. Flaere's Spooky, Scary Story Draft 2: Flaere can't muster up the courage to tell his best friend how he feels - and he might never get the chance now that the love of his life has been kidnapped by a werewolf. When Flaere hires a monster hunter from the illustrious Hunter's Guild to help find him, he didn't know he'd also be hiring a competitor for his affections - all while the beast who took his lover draws him deeper into its sadistic clutches.





	1. Bone Apple Teeth

"And when they looked inside the trunk, there it was... The shrunken head of Inspector O' Harris!" Flaere flings an unarmed grenade into the air. Only one of us lifts his head to trace its path: Finn, marveling at how high it goes. Jun only glances over the top of his tablet once the grenade hits the ground and rolls away unimpressively.

"Heeeey, here's a thought," the purple-haired technician suggests, "Let's  _ not  _ use the artillery as props for your cheesy ghost stories."

"It wasn't  _ cheesy _ ," Flaere protests. He rubs his worn army boots together. "I bet the author had an outline and everything..." 

"Question." Sylphos raises his hand from where he lays on his back watching the stars. His curly cyan hair fans over the leaf litter. "Was Inspector O' Harris the guy they met at the inn?" 

"No, no, that was  _ Sub-Inspector  _ O' Harris," Flaere explains earnestly. 

"See, now that's just confusing." 

"They're brothers!" 

"Don't listen to them, Flaere," Finn says as he stirs the pot over the campfire. "I thought it was scary. Right, Rayce?" I lean forward into the aroma of food and warmth of the fire as I watch him ladel stew into a bowl. Reaching with both hands, I let the ends of the blanket I held wrapped around myself fall from my shoulders. Finn pulls an inch out of reach, flashing me the 'help me out here' look. 

"Yeah, yeah,  _ suuuuper _ scary," I concur. He relents with a slight roll of emerald eyes and I dig in. As Finn turns back to the pot, the light of the fire nearly consumes his twig legs. They're skinnier than some of the kindling.

"You want to hear a real scary story?" says Jun. He doesn't even look up when Finn places a bowl in front of him. "I have two words for you. Estate. Tax." 

I'm starving but I still have to take a moment to groan aloud at that. "No one wants to hear about your taxes, Jun."  

"Well I'm sorry, but what could be more terrifying than big brother going around  _ grave robbing _ your nearest and dearest family members before the bodies are even cold in their graves?"

"This conversation?" 

He goes on as if I haven't spoken. "And then squandering that hard-earned money on the lifestyles of lazy  _ undesirables. _ " He waves a porcelain hand irreverently. Sylphos sits up, narrowing his eyes. 

"Why did you point at  _ me? _ "

"Face it Jun, you can't be scary..." I chuckle. 

"Oh? And why is that?" He challenges.

"Because horror comes from real fears; it comes from  _ real problems.  _ And you..." I smile into my dinner. "You don't have real problems,  _ Ms. Hilton _ ."

"Oh and  _ you _ can be scary? Let's hear it then, chop chop." He claps his hands in tempo as if summoning a butler. 

"Well... Alright then." I put the bowl down - the only thing that can get between me and dinner is a challenge! "But don't say I didn't warn you." 

 

###

 

I know I don't belong here. 

_ The salad fork is for salad - see? That wasn't so hard. The hard part is actually EATING salad. _

They're going to figure me out, aren't they?

_ The fish fork is for fish. Why do we need a separate fork for fish? _

It's not like I care what they think. I just don't want to mess up. I want to do this for him. 

_ The seafood fork. Don't ask. Don't. Even. Ask.  _

I'm just so  _ hungry.  _ All these forks and nothing to eat. Just then, the first course arrives: a fleet of ufo-shaped cloches alighting gracefully on a landing strip of girly lace tablecloth. Although, if a bunch of aliens crash-landed in King's Rock County, they would probably hitchhike to the other side of the galaxy to get the hell out of here. One of the ufos lands before our leader at the head of the table. Finn meets my eyes and smiles. 

He's better than this place - he's better than these people - why did he even want to move here? Finn's innocent green eyes are brighter than the emerald in Mr. O' Connelly's Dartmouth class ring. He can barely fill out the antique armchair he sits in with his waifish form, unlike Mr. Torres whose sketchy butt injections received on vacation in the tropics are now the topic of a lot of gossip. Trust me, I wasn't  _ trying  _ to overhear it; I liked that trunk better before I knew what kind of junk was in it. Finn's blonde hair is less micro-groomed and yet a thousand times fluffier than the Aokis' spoiled Shih-Tzu currently seated in Mr. Jun Aoki's lap. 

The miniature whirlwind of fur and teeth has a vantage point to paw at the silverware and drool on the china with utter impunity. I'm seriously considering faking a massive episode of anaphylactic shock to get that thing away from me. And maybe get out of this dinner party while I'm at it...

One of the high-class servers we hired for the event replaces a dinner plate glossy with dog drool for the third time this evening - the annoyed look on his face tells me he's about a half-second from going full-on fast food retail worker on the spoiled socialite and his little dog too.

"I just can't go  _ anywhere  _ these days without my darling Bijou," Jun is saying as he makes kissy faces at the dog who is way more interested in growling around the tablecloth caught between its teeth. "He's an emotional support animal, you see." Jun smiles over at Finn. "You don't mind, of course."

"No, Mr. Aoki, of course not." Finn innocuously picks dog fur from the leg of his dress pants. Everyone just takes Jun's bullshit because even among these people, the Aokis are hotshots. I'm pretty sure that was on one of the 'turn Rayce into a semi-society gentleman by tomorrow evening' flashcards. 

"Goodness, you are  _ so _ much more open-minded than the Langstons; you have no idea how glad we are that you moved in after they left. Would you believe they had a no-pet policy in their home? And then they tried to move the homeowner's association to establish  _ pet-free zones _ ." Jun covers his dog's ears as he whispers the last part as if the overgrown rodent understands him.

"Oh well, Rayce and I love animals," says Finn, and he probably has to or they'll probably run us out of town the way they did the Langstons... No, I can't prove it, but do I have to? 

"That's good because I just don't know what I'd do without him." Jun simpers at Bijou as he ruffles the dog's ears.

"I'm afraid you'll have to find out for a minute while we say grace," replies Finn sweetly. Jun slides him a sideways glance.

"My Bijou isn't keeping you from saying grace." 

"Oh! I had no idea your dog could hold hands and pray. He must be so well-trained." Our guest narrows his eyes a bit, but he puts the dog down on the carpet and links hands with his neighbors, if only with a limp-wristed overhand grip he might use to be serviced in a manicurist's chair. 

Finn closes his eyes, lowers his head and prays, "Lord, thank you for our new home and all of the wonderful things we take for granted.

"Thank you for bringing us together this evening with our new friends who have made us feel so welcome.

Welcome? I must have missed that part...

"And most of all, thank you for this meal we are about to share. Amen." 

"Amen," I repeat. When I open my eyes, a hundred puzzled eyes are staring back at me. I shrink a couple inches as they exchange sympathetic - scratch that -  _ patronizing  _ glances. I know that look because I wasn't religious either before I met Finn.  _ We are good Catholic people. We are good Catholic people.  _ That's the mantra, say it over and over again, drill it into your brain, your body, your  _ eternal soul _ until it becomes true. If that isn't how faith works, then I'm shit outta luck. 

The lids are lifted and I have to resist the urge to groan at the reddish pink disc in the center of my plate. Finn's famous salmon-scallop tartare. Is it salad? Is it seafood? Is it fish? Will Rayce ever get to eat? Tune in to find out next time on 'Reality Househubbies of King's Rock'... My hand hovers uncertainly over the arsenal of forks. That's when I notice everyone is still watching me.  _ 'Do not begin eating until after the host has started.'  _ Of course,  _ that's _ the tidbit of dining etiquette I remember. Here goes nothing. I grab the fish fork.

Finn clears his throat softly, making me look over. My heart sinks as he lifts the salad fork meaningfully. I turn back to the social vultures at our dinner and wave my fork jokingly. "Is just what a Langston would do, am I right?" They laugh while a wave of relief washes over me.  _ Nice save, Gunner. _ I trade out for the right fork. The sound of clinking cutlery fills the air as the guests tuck in. 

"So, you're Catholic! How quaint," Jun titters abruptly. "My husband is  _ clergy. _ " My gaze skips immediately over to the man sitting beside him. He wears a simple black roll neck as dark as his hair and a trim silver-grey blazer over it. I know his name from a seating chart I musta spent an hour etching into my memory: Damon Aoki. He doesn't look much more animated than that label on the table diagram: checked-out and staring at a point on the wall behind my head. 

"Isn't that right, dear?" Jun lays a delicate hand on his knee. 

"Hm?" He blinks to refocus himself. "Oh, that's right, honeybun."  _ Yeesh.  _ Can you say 'whipped'? It's a shame too... My gaze wanders, lost in the sexy peaks of his short hair.

"You really  _ must _ attend his service sometime. His sermons are... So  _ stirring _ ." Jun's hand travels up along his pant leg. Porcelain fingers dig gently into the clergyman's thigh.

Finn smiles. "I'm sure they are." 

I only realize that I'm staring at Damon too long when his dark eyes meet mine and hold steady for an uncomfortably long time. I quickly return my gaze to my food. Aaaand slowly lift it again to see that that didn't deter him at all. The candles lit the coal in his eyes, making them smolder. A tiny smile tugs at thin lips. He found something more interesting than the wall. Gee, I suppose I should be  _ flattered _ .  

Damon lowers his lids at me as he props his chin up on the heel of his palm.

"So, what do you do for a living, Gunner?" 

"Me?" I falter. "Well, err, I work from home."

"That's not a job." His smile only widens. He has me all figured out and I've barely said a word. No fair: he's peeking at the answers in my soul. 

Jun laughs abruptly and swats his arm. "Oh, you; don't press him.  _ Some people  _ would use that as a cover-up for the fact that they're unemployed." He bats purple lashes at me. "But not you, I'm sure. You must be sitting on a top-secret startup idea that's going to change everything, right?" I can't tell when this guy is making fun of me. You don't understand; his sarcasm voice and his regular voice are  _ literally the same _ . 

"I... I wish I could tell you, but then it wouldn't be very secret." I smile at him. 

Damon's gaze is wandering again - huh, this guy sure is playing hard to get. I can feel his attention slipping between my fingers like sand and the shocking part is that I actually  _ care.  _

I desperately blurt out something - anything - to catch his attention, "I hunt." I'm rewarded with that dark-eyed gaze: intrigued this time. 

"Oh, do you? I'm a bit of a hunter myself."

"R-Really?" Cringing inwardly at the eagerness in my voice, I go on, "Because it's deer season; maybe we could grab a couple of rifles and..." Damon is examining his fingernails with mild interest.

"Actually, my hunting interests are... A little more  _ niche. _ " The beginnings of the smile on my face fade. That's when I feel gentle weight on my shoe under the table. Oh great, it's that dumb dog again. I nudge it off. It comes right back. I must smell like food or something. This time I aim a tiny kick at it. The dog returns for a third time, stubbornly pushing down. Annoyed, I lift the tablecloth to deal with the mutt more directly, but what I see there makes my face go hot. I throw down the edge of the cloth like I was just caught looking up a skirt. It was Damon's foot. He's playing footsie with me under the table. 

Not that you could tell just by looking at him. Damon sips casually on his wine. One look this way and my face is burning up again. Isn't this guy  _ married?  _ Wait,  _ I'm  _ married! Speaking of which, I shoot a quick look at Finn, but he's busy tittering with Jun in a pitch so high that only subs and dogs can understand it. Oh wait, I get it now. I feel bitterness rising in my throat. You'd think Finn had been a status-grubbing socialite all his life. Well,  _ I'm _ not. And I don't want to be. Damon tags me again under the table. Picking at my food, I slowly tag him back. 

 

These people have everything in the world except something interesting to talk about. If I hear one more word about an investment opportunity, I swear to god I might hop in my car and make a hefty investment in Vegas! Isn't anyone going to ask me if I caught the big game last night? The well-dressed intruders - I mean,  _ house guests -  _ stand around the living room chatting over after-dinner drinks. 

I take my can of cheap beer and hang out next to the least-judgemental thing in this room: the disembodied head of a stag stuffed and mounted on a plaque over the mantle. I call him Clarence. I remember the day we met. The fireplace outlines Clarence's antlers in glowing orange, the same way the rising sun caught from its angles that day. I remember my vision edged in foliage as I carefully leveled the rifle. Not daring to move any more than that or I would alert him to my presence. 

Over the sight of the rifle, I saw the stag bathed in a brassy dawn. It was bent to a tuft of grass - suddenly - it lifted its head, piercing the air with those magnificent antlers. Ears flicking. Dark eyes. Clever boy.  _ But I'm still taking you home tonight. _ I took a deep breath and squeezed. 

I lift my beer can, capturing Finn over the sight of the popped can tab. He stands with Jun Aoki and a group of our other high society neighbors. My husband says something that makes the purple-haired socialite burst out laughing and swat at his shoulder. I mean - not  _ burst out -  _ but he does that thing where he covers his mouth and closes his eyes while his shoulders shake. It's the closest thing to a real emotion he can express. I can't keep my eyes from slipping down over Jun's willowy body. That's a  _ really _ nice set of hips. I mean, he isn't unattractive... Not at all. He's hot from a distance: and that distance begins where earshot ends! 

I catch movement out of the corner of my eyes as easily as I do out in the forest. Damon, the clergyman, drifts through the woods of the packed living room. He appears and disappears in the gaps between guests and furniture. He's a  _ Clarence:  _ the kind of mark I would tail through the forest for hours. I don't have to when I realize he's coming right this way. 

I stiffen, tightening my grip on my drink. He runs a hand casually through handsome black hair as he walks this way, letting it flutter perfectly back into place. I burn myself on those coal-black eyes; it's as if the space around him fills with smoke and he's all I can see. I hide behind the can lifted to my lips. Damon radiates heat when he comes to a stop in front of me. My back can't quite fold itself into the angle of the corner; there's nowhere to hide.  _ Play it cool, Rayce.  _

The clergyman's thin lips curl. "Hey." 

"I went to college!" I blurt out. Then I want to hit myself. That's just the kind of thing someone who hasn't gone to college would say... 

He cocks an eyebrow. 

"Yep, got my diploma on the wall in my study..." And yet I'm still digging. "Because that's what you do with diplomas..." I mutter into the beer can. Damon's shadow darkens the corner because he's leaning right over me. I search his eyes without daring to move. 

He whispers, "I know what you are." And the blood drains from my face. 

"Y-You do?" 

"Mm- _ hmmmm _ ..." He nods very slowly. 

"And... what are you going to do about it?" 

"Nothing... Because I'm just like you," he says simply. I notice he's holding a beer can. I never knew a can of beer could look so  _ sexy. _

"You... Oh, that's such a relief!" I laugh out loud.

"Hey..." Damon glances around. "It's too loud in here. Wanna take this outside?" 

"Yeah fuck it, let's go." 

Damon and I stand on the porch together in the dark. When I look up at that night sky underlined in pines, I see freedom. But eventually, my gaze drops to my fresh set of prison bars: rows upon rows of manicured suburban homes trapped behind fences. It's as if the architect folded up a sheet of brick and plaster, cut out the generic shape of a house and unfolded it like a paper chain of identical homes over the grass. How does it not drive these people insane? How do they get up every morning, get dressed and pick up the mail in perfect lockstep without losing their goddamn minds and taking a sledgehammer to the walls of their ridiculous lives?  

"Finn wanted this so badly," I say, although I never understood why.  

"Yeah, Jun too," Damon adds. "But it can be hard for people like us in a place like this." He peeked into my soul again, and now he's reading my own feelings back to me. 

"I feel like a phony." Believe me, I wasn't planning on saying that out loud.

"Hey, you... You're not a phony." Damon steps closer. He slips an arm around me. "You can't help who you are." I lean into his embrace, seeking the warmth of his knit shirt. "You can't help having... Certain  _ desires _ ." My eyes shoot open at that. "People like us shouldn't have to hide our true nature." His mouth is very close to my ear. I turn enough that our lips nearly touch. 

I breathe on the tip of his tongue. "Yeah..." And then I kiss him. 

Damon takes my flirtation and turns it into a full-blown affair. He has a hand in my hair and his tongue in my mouth, devouring me like the secret sixth course of the meal. 

"Mmmph! Mmm..." I make desperate noises between his lips. We come apart with a sticky sound, but it's only because Damon is moving on to my ass. "Didn't you say you were clergy..." I manage to gasp. 

"Doesn't that make it more exciting?" Damon flashes me a grin. I lower my lids at him. He reaches into his blazer and what comes out makes my eyes widen again. A smooth, silver thing shaped like a bullet and as long as his hand. "Turn around," he says. 

_ I can't believe I'm doing this. _ Propping my forearms on the patio railing, I turn around and offer myself to him. The night air feels frigid against my crotch as my pants drop around my ankles. I hear him laugh abruptly and glance over my shoulder.

"Are you wearing  _ sock suspenders? _ "

_ I forgot-  _ Blushing deeply, I argue, "They keep my socks up, okay?" A product of my overthinking every aspect of this dumb dinner party. The last thing I wanted was my worn out dress socks sliding down my ankles making me  _ even more uncomfortable _ . 

"Relax." I feel his body press up against mine. "I think it's cute." He thinks it's... The flush across my face grows hotter. 

What kind of priest walks around with lube in his pocket, anyway? I suppose I should be grateful because that vibrator would never fit otherwise. I can feel it stretching me out; my mouth opens soundlessly and then the pressure escapes in a tiny gasp.

Damon praises me, "You're doing so well." Looping his arms around me, Damon holds the remote controller in front of my face: it's a featureless rectangle of plastic save for a slider. So unassuming you'd never know what it does... Okay, that's a lie. You'd definitely know. I'm tense the second he places his thumb on the slider. And pushes it  _ eeever  _ so slightly. I feel it beginning - a low rumble of things to come. Heat begins to simmer, then grows hotter and hotter as the slider continues its journey to the top of the controller. Just before he hits the highest setting, Damon turns the vibrator all the way down and holds the controller flat on his palm as if offering it to me. 

"Want to try?" he teases. 

Oh, he doesn't get to jerk me around. I push the slider straight to the top and congratulate myself with a cry of ecstasy. 

"You slut!" Damon laughs. He grabs my cock and starts rubbing me out, but he can't possibly keep time with that incredible crescendo. And it's buzzing right up against my prostate. Unable to hold out against the stimulation from both sides, I climax hard and fast. Right into the fucking begonias, goddamn... 

While I come down from the high, panting, Damon says nonchalantly, "I saw you checking out my husband." 

_ Caught _ . I glance back and forth. "Sorry."

"I might have to punish you for that..." Damon is pulling my pants back up - but he didn't remove the toy. 

"H-Hey, I think you forgot something." 

"I don't think so." Damon is grinning too wide as he puts an arm around my waist and leads me back inside. 

Finn finds us at the door; Damon lets his hand slide off before the small blonde can see it.

"Mr. Aoki." Finn nods a polite acknowledgment. "Can you give us a minute?" 

"By all means." Damon bows out. I watch him go over Finn's shoulder. He slips into his pocket and I feel the vibrator starting up again. I hold my breath. 

"You made a friend," he says encouragingly.

"Yeah, whatever." I scratch the back of my head and bite my lip like I'm trying to keep in a dirty secret. 

"Rayce," Finn is holding my hands. "I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you."  _ Proud?  _ The word drips guilt into the pleasured buzz in my head. "I know this isn't your usual crowd... I know you've had to make a lot of adjustments." He squeezes. "But I really think this is going to be good for us."

"Yeah?" I start to feel irritable.  _ Restless.  _ "Because I'm not so sure about that, Finn."

"What happened to 'giving it the good old college try'?" 

"Well I didn't-!" I started out too loud so I have to lower my volume mid-sentence to a hiss - "I didn't  _ go  _ to college. That's just something we say to boring, fake people so they think we're boring and fake just like them." I flip the script on him - hold his petite hands in mine instead. "I  _ liked  _ our life before. I liked who we were before we came here."

"We're the same people, Rayce." 

"I know I am. But I'm starting to wonder about you." 

" _ Rayce- _ " I see the hurt in his eyes and I immediately want to rewind, but the damage is done. His hands slip; he clasps them behind his back as he casts his gaze at the hardwood floor.

I start counting the freckles on Finn's face like I usually do to make sure I don't answer too quickly - say something that might hurt his gentle heart. Something I should have been doing a few seconds ago. I start again, "Finn, I-"   _ Holy crap!  _ The rest of that statement comes out as a yelp as I stand bolt upright.

The vibrator is going off like an alarm clock in there! Eyes wide, sweating, I clap a hand over my mouth. Can he  _ hear _ it?

"Rayce?" 

"I-I need a second!" I stammer out before I bolt through the crowd.

_ Have to... Have to find Damon _ ... And I do: he leans against the staircase railing, arms folded. There's that dark, inviting look in his eyes again. When he sees me, he unfolds and heads upstairs as if tempting me to follow. I take a deep breath and let it out before following.

Damon stands in the hallway with his hand on one of the doorknobs.

"Okay, look," I say as I walk rapidly toward him with a finger in the air. "You can't pull shit like that in front of Finn. He doesn't know-" 

"Sorry," He cuts me off. "I just thought you were ready for something... A little more intense." The door swings open with a gentle creak. My heart pounds in my chest as I look inside. 

_ Oh god yes. _ What was I complaining about again? 

Jun is naked, his ivory skin so bright that he almost seems to be glowing on the bed. His thin wrists are tied to the frame and he wears a silk blindfold. I look at Damon incredulously.

"I want you to have him," he says simply.

"You mean it?" I can't believe my luck. 

"Go  _ nuts.  _ Meet you next door when you're done." With that, the door closes behind me. I look Jun up and down, heart pounding. The bedsprings groan as I leap on top of him; he giggles that fake, high-pitched laugh. 

"I was waiting for you..." he says in a sultry voice. His legs were crossed politely but he opens up for me as I draw my face up along the contours of his body, hovering over porcelain, picture-perfect skin. He must use all the rich person cosmetics with like, the snail goo in them or whatever. I let my hands follow the pornographic curves of his hips. From the flat expanse of his belly to his cute nipples - I flick one and make him coo - then the sexy ridge of his shoulders. I run a hand through silky purple hair, letting it slip over his shoulder to reveal the smooth curve of his neck. He giggles as I start making out with it. I pump his average-sized manhood because I am an  _ excellent  _ host.

"You're a good kisser..." he moans. 

"You smell good." I murmur, breathing in deeply. 

"Thanks, I use a red sea-kelp extract blended with 24-karat-" I clamp a hand over his mouth to muffle the rest into noises. Trust me. He is much hotter with his mouth shut. 

 

I'm early, but Damon isn't far behind me. The bedroom door slams open and shut. 

"He was amazing," I say simply. The next thing I know, my clothes are coming off, torn away by eager hands. Damon leaves the floor littered with them. But when I reach for his blazer, he stops me short with domineering hands locked around my wrists. So the priest fucks with his clothes on. Somehow, I don't think makes it any less sinful. 

My back hits the bed and bounces on top of our new bajillion-thread-count sheets. I told Finn that for that price, they'd better fucking fly... But damn do they feel good all of a sudden with Damon pushing me into them. He follows up with his lips. And his hands... I balk at what appears through his fly.  

Don't look at me like that. Finn did this to me. 

The vibrator pops free with a sticky sound, but Damon doesn't leave me lonely long when he pushes into its place. Another passionate cry leaves my throat. Limbs and hungry mouths entangling together, he wrestles me on the sheets. I work it out on Damon: all the angry, bitter energy that built up while I wasted away in this picket fence prison... I use it to strangle the strands of his amazing, dark hair between my fingers. I force it through a bite on his shoulder and neck. I scream it through a closing throat when his fist tightens around it, choking me. I see the ceiling. I see my own feet in the air over my head and let out an abrupt laugh because he left my stupid, geeky sock suspenders on - of all things. I guess he really did like them after all. 

 

I announce another climax - not at the ceiling, at the floor because I'm upside down. From this angle, I can see my own reflection in the full-length mirror next to the dresser. My torso hanging back over the edge of the bed at an angle that seems unnatural. Well, what part of this  _ is  _ natural anyway? My arms dangle over my head to rest on the carpet. Wide eyes and lips parted to let out raw, desperate noises. Shaking rhythmically in time with Damon's thrusts as he keeps going at my lower half. Does that guy ever take a break? He's doing  _ god's _ work. My body convulses when he cums again. This is overkill; he's just adding to the mess he made inside me. 

I hear the bedsprings creak as he crawls on top. The flash of silver in the mirror catches my attention. Damon holds a pocketknife. It cuts through the mood in here and turns it into something darker... A shudder of anticipation runs through me. I don't resist when he teases my skin with it. The metal is cold: I can feel better than I can see where it's going: over my flat chest; he dangerously grazes a nipple. The point of the knife dances on the ridge of my clavicle, almost wandering off over my shoulder. But it settles in the crook of my neck. I'm holding my breath. 

Then I have to cry out, just a little bit, as Damon pushes the knife. Just deep enough to draw blood. Shallow enough not to kill me. How hard is he working at keeping that balance? At least he takes it slow, although I'm not sure if it's because he's trying to be careful or trying to cause me agony. 

It works. 

Damon drags the knife, expanding the cut around my neck in a crescent. Blood spills from the wound to pool against my jaw, then rolls over my chin to stripe my face red. I blink against one too close to an eye. Droplets cluster at my lashes, tinting my vision. The stain on the carpet is getting bigger, but my hair soaks up the worst of it. Not that you could tell because it's the same color. Blood red. 

I'm breathing slowly, so carefully. 

"You look beautiful," I hear him say. 

"Drink me," I beg. The grey of his blazer closes over me. I black hair in the mirror as he lowers his face to my neck and laps at it. The way his tongue rasps over torn skin makes it sting; makes me whimper, but I don't stop him. He does that all by himself. Damon lifts his head, distracted.

I follow his gaze to the closet. Where a puddle of blood is slowly stretching out from under the door. The priest gets off me, zipping up his pants. "What the..." He reaches for the knob like a man possessed. The closet creaks softly open. 

That dog is finally quiet now, pinned to the back wall of the closet just like Clarence gazing out over the mantle. People react so differently when it's a dog. Fleshy pink entrails dangle between wet clumps of fur. They almost look festive: like crepe paper streamers but, you know, kinda gross and smelly. 

" _ Bijou! _ " Damon screams between his hands pressed over his mouth. "What's going o-" When he spins around, I'm right behind him. He staggers backward, shocked, and catches himself on the doorframe of the closet. 

I make a clicking sound with my tongue. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

"Wh-What did you do?" he demands. 

"What? No one even liked that dog." I grin at him. "People like us shouldn't have to hide our true nature. Right?" My hands travel over his chest. "People like us have to stick together..."

" _ Swingers! _ " he bursts out abruptly. 

I blink. "What?" 

"Swingers, we're  _ swingers, _ " he repeats, shaking his head. "I thought you were too- you left a pineapple on your doorstep for three days!" 

I groan. "For the last time... I told Finn I forgot, okay; it was an  _ accident! _ " 

"What... What did  _ you  _ think I was talking about?" 

"Oh, well this is awkward. You're gonna laugh..." But I'm the only one who does; he just stares at me in horror. "It looks like this was all just a huge misunderstanding." I flash him an apologetic smile. "With the whole  _ 'I know what you are'... _ You gotta admit, it was a little confusing."

Damon pales as a new realization dawns on him. "Oh god. What did you do to Jun?" 

I tilt my head slightly. "You know the drill: I can't let you leave now. Can't have you telling Finn what I am. Or anyone else..." My vampire fangs slide into place in my mouth; I bare them at him in a grin. "But hey, you can be like me if you want. And we can swing for  _ eternity _ , sexy..."

He didn't really go for it. I chase a shrieking Damon down the hallway while I load my shotgun. Thankfully, the other guests seem to have gone home, which leaves just the two of us racing through empty corridors. I know these corridors better than he does, even if I hate their clinical drywall guts. I circle around to head him off from the front door, aim right between his wide, black eyes.  _ Hello, Clarence _ . And fire. He peeled around the corner with a shriek just in time, but I nicked him in the leg. It's gettin' bloody now. Streaks on the hardwood lead me right to him. Dragging a leg studded with buckshot and leaking like a colander, Damon throws open a door and vanishes through it.  _ Wrong move. _

The door leads to the basement. I stand at the top of the stairs and call down, "Funny, I really thought I'd hear more praying..." I slowly descend the stairs, shotgun pointed into the darkness. "It's almost like... You're only a priest for  _ show _ ." Soft whimpering is the only reply. "What," I tease, "Didn't they teach you how to slay vampires in god school or whatever?"

That's when I feel it: a sharp sting in my neck. 

"What the..." I wince as I tug out a thin dart with a fluffy pink end.  _ A tranq dart?  _ That's all I have time to think about before I drop to my knees and fall forward on my chest.

 

I come around in the low light, blinking sluggishly.  _ Food. _ I smell food, which is weird because we just ate. A blur of pink moves through blurry vision. 

"The O' Connellys invited us to their Sunday potluck." The sound of his voice helps me piece the shapes together into the pink of Finn's apron: knotted into an adorable bow over his cute ass. The one I like to grab before bed to tell him:  _ we're having fun tonight _ . He's only Catholic on Sundays. Finn is turned toward the kitchen counter. 

"Finn?" I try to move, but my arms won't. And my shoulders won't. I'm tied to a chair. 

"They are such sweethearts," he continues on that irrelevant tangent. A thin, pale arm rises into the air holding a bloody meat cleaver. It comes down with a decisive thud against the wooden chopping board. Lifts and drops. Lifts and  _ drops _ . The sound makes me wince. 

There's purple hair draped over the counter.  _ Wait a second. _ And the meat on the chopping board - the drop of the cleaver cuts my train of thought in half. 

My breaths come fast now; my voice sounds horrified. "F-Finn!  _ Finn! _ " His name is stuck on repeat on my tongue. Finally, he lifts the cleaver one last time and slams the sharp point into the board so hard that it lodges itself in the surface. 

Finn turns around, languidly drying bloody hands on his adorable, frilly apron. He... He's getting it dirty. It was an anniversary gift. 

"What is going on?" I dare to ask, but not loudly. Finn looks at me with blank green eyes. 

He matches my volume. "I was going to make this place our personal paradise. These sinners were going to get the judgment they deserved and  _ you...  _ You were going to drink in the fruits of my labor."

"B-But..." I shake my head. 

"How  _ dumb  _ do you think I am?" The harshness in his voice feels like a blow from a blunt object. I've never heard him sound like that before. "Did you think I didn't know what you are? I knew you were a vampire, Rayce, but I didn't care. You are what  _ God _ made you. God loves all his creations equally." He spreads his thin arms wide, head tilted slightly to one side. Why does his mouth say 'God' when his eyes look like the devil? "But  _ adulterers _ ." His tone turns bitter. "The scripture is clear on adulterers."

Banging on the basement door interrupts us. The wooden door shudders violently. 

"Help!  _ Help me! _ " Damon wails from the other side. "These people are  _ insane! _ " 

"Leave me out of this!" I protest.

"Quiet!" Finn snaps at the door. "You will be judged in turn! In the meantime, I suggest you atone for making a mockery of the cloth..." 

Finn climbs into my lap. Unbidden thoughts race through my head of steamy nights on top of or under him while I watched my blonde angel dance. Sometimes, I could swear he even  _ flew.  _ In the backseat of our car after church or on our honeymoon atop sheets covered in blood red petals. I can't make them fit with this new vision of him. This bloody kitchen hell. Finn holds my jaw in his small hand and tilts it so I can look into his eyes. They always seemed so deep to me: an emerald with a hundred facets spiraling inward. Right now, they're just flat - a matte blanket of mold over his soul. He picks up a silver utensil from the counter. A fork. 

"Do you remember what kind of fork this is, my love?" 

Flashcards flash through my memory but the pictures and captions cut themselves out and shuffle around in my head. My lips tremble through the words. "S-Salad fork? D-D-Dessert fork?" He just smiles sympathetically as tears spill over my cheeks. " _ Fish fork? _ " It seems kind of irrelevant when that fork - whatever the fork it really is - plunges into my eye socket. Then the wetness pouring over my face is lukewarm blood.  _ Pain.  _ He is clawing out my face. I scream up at the ceiling, wrenching cries from the depths of my lungs as if it might change his mind.

"Finn!" Gore and some kind of gelatinous substance stain the front of my shirt.

" _ FINN! _ " The stringy remains of nerve endings stretch between the fork and the hole he left in my head. The back of my head slams against the wall. Breathing hard and drenched with sweat, I blink through bleary-eyed terror. I can only see out one eye now as if looking through a pair of binoculars with one of the lenses taped over. My vision is fading in and out, shaky as I find Finn again. He's holding the fork with a rounded object impaled on the end.  _ Oh god.  _ I heave but nothing's coming up. 

Finn's naturally flushed lips pinch into a smile.

"I hope the O' Connellys like fava beans and Chianti." Then he wraps them around my eyeball and swallows. 

 

###

 

"Jesus Christ, Rayce." Sylphos reacts. 

Jun slowly puts down his bowl, making a face. "That wasn't scary; it was just gross. Did there really have to be so many...  _ Bodily fluids  _ involved?"

"You people wouldn't know good horror if it dug your eyeballs out with a rusty fork." I pick up my bowl and dig back into my dinner.

Sylphos raises a hand again. "But you spent so much time having a hard-on for Damon we hardly got to the horror part..." He and Jun snicker in unison.

"Hey!"

"It was miles better than Flaere's story though," Jun concedes.

"What?" Flaere thrusts a hand at me and complains, "How was his story any better than mine? It was so unrealistic!" 

"How so?" I challenge. 

"Well for starters, Finn is  _ nothing  _ like that." 

"That's very sweet of you to say, Flaere," says Finn.

"I dunno," I turn to the cute blonde. "Saying you aren't a psycho cannibal seems like the bare minimum for a compliment." 

"Be nice." Finn places a kiss on my cheek. Then lifts his chin again as howling carries over the treetops. Sylphos gets to his feet. The tall sniper towers over our little firepit. Curly cerulean hair blows gently in the night air, bright under the full moon. I trace its silver sheen over the sniper rifle strapped to his back, which he is currently drawing over his shoulder.

"Guys," he says, "I don't think that's a wolf."   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Halloween. My favorite holiday.  
> If you do read [The Human Rayce](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14040666/chapters/32340450), then you might already know that my holiday specials are non-canon!
> 
> And if you don't, that's fine! This work can be read completely independently of anything else.
> 
> If you liked what you read, drop me a kudos and leave a **creeeeeepy** comment. In fact. **Check in the comments right now for a surprise.**


	2. Flaere's Spooky, Scary Story Draft 2

"And where was the heart? Everyone was so mean and cold-spirited... A good story should have a little romance in it,"

"Would _somebody_ please tell me what the fuck Flaere is babbling about?" I demand impatiently as we race through the forest. The tall silhouettes of wolfish creatures melt between the shadows of trees and foliage. They're just looking for an opening to strike - but the threat of our weapons keeps them at bay. For how long before we slip up?

"I think your story, maybe?" Sylphos answers my question.

I blink a couple of times. "Wait, we're still talking about that?"

"I can tell a better story!" Flaere insists. "Give me another chance..."

"Oh sure, this is the perfect time for a scary story, it's not like we have anything better to do right now!"

Of course, my sarcasm falls on tone-deaf ears. "I won't let you down!" Flaere just lights up. Ah fuck it, at least he's cute. "Okay, so it was a dark and snowy night..."

 

###

 

I watched light bloom and shrink against the wall of the tent. Falling snow collected on the roof one flake at a time, but at some point, that became enough to make the entire roof sag inwardly. I wondered if it would collapse and bury me in an overdue avalanche.  

"What will you do?" I turned in the direction of the voice. Matteo was lying on his belly, wrapped loosely in a blanket as he pored over a map. An open package of light brown tea biscuits lay beside him and the lead of his pencil made soft scratching noises as he scrawled notes on the parchment in front of him. Sometimes just doodles. The saggy nightshirt that he wore slouched from a shoulder, revealing a smooth mound of tan. He set down the pencil and turned to face me. Wavy black hair framed dark blue eyes; I stared at the twin of the lantern flickering deep inside them.

"Well?"

"Huh?" I blinked.

"I asked, what will you do when we find the wishing stone?"

"Oh well, uh..." I rolled over on my back. My toes curled uncomfortably, reminding me that snow had gotten into my boots and soaked through my socks. "A new pair of socks would be nice." I could feel Matteo's stare burning into the side of my head.

"Don't worry. I'll ask the stone to give you a better imagination."

I glanced over, embarrassed. "Wh-What are you going to ask for, anyway?"

"Me?" Matteo shifted to lie on his side, head propped on his palm. "I'm going to ask for a better life." Coldness seeped into my chest as if it had traveled there from my wet socks.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Hm?"

"I mean, what's wrong with your life? Right now?" I couldn't even look him in the eyes as I said it.

"Oh come on," Matteo muttered as if the answer was obvious. "What kind of life is this? No family. No home. On the streets... When I find that stone, things are going to be different." He put his hands in the air and slowly spread them apart as if opening an imaginary window to his new life. He populated it with words: "I'm going to have a biiiig house with two - no, _three!_ \- floors. And dogs. Lots of dogs. I'll have so much space that I'll finally be able to install an aquarium."

"What's an aquarium?" I asked. He turned his head and grinned wide.

"I don't know. But doesn't it sound wonderful?"  

It didn't sound like something he would want. But then, who was I to say what he really wanted? I only knew about the parts of Matteo's life that he chose to share with me and the rest was... Like looking at him through the fogged-up window in my room back in town. I knew he was on the other side, but I could only see the suggestions of shapes: his hair and cloak soaked with rain. His favorite feather earring. The outline of his hand tapping on the glass, asking to be let in. I knew it was him. It was too cold outside, but it was warm in my bed.

"You're always saying you wish things were different. You've been looking for 'a better life' for years..." I told Matteo in the tent, "But maybe... Better isn't as different as you think it is."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It does." It did in my head, anyway. "Why do you need some rock to be happy? O-Or dogs, or a big fancy house? I think you can find happy right where you are."

There was a long silence in the tent. I started to worry that I said the wrong thing. Maybe I should wish for the courage to say the things that I really want to say.

Suddenly Matteo jumped on top of me, locking his knees at my sides. There was brightness in his deep blue eyes as he put ticklish fingers to my tunic. Giggles escaped my throat in light, bouncy bubbles of noise. I wiggled underneath him as his hands found their way into surprising places which I didn't know could feel that way when touched by someone else... He tagged me all over with mischievous fingers.

"Stooooop!" I laughed. He couldn't hold it in and started laughing too, allowing both hands to come to rest on my chest.

He said, "You're right, that did make me happy." And I smiled back at him.

The amusement on his face dimmed and then I realized what he was sensing even between the layers on layers of blankets and clothing.

"M-Matteo, I-" It was too late; he flew back to his side of the tent while I sat upright, pushing my hands desperately into my lap. _Go down. Go down!_ But it wouldn't. I piled on more blankets, my face raging with heat. This time, the coldness in my chest was guilt, and it didn't seep; it _flooded_.

"I'm sorry," I said, "It's just the weather-" Matteo was already under the sheet again, curled up and facing away from me.

"Good night," he said.

"Matteo-"

"Good night, Flaere." His curtness ended the conversation.

 

***

 

This place is a far cry from that fragile pocket of canvas in the forest. The tavern in the woods is a sturdy box made of thick logs stacked one on top of the other. Snow slides right off the sloped roof and a fire burns in the eyes of its windows. I need to find the toughest thing in this tough building if I'm ever going to have a chance. Warmth envelops me the moment I step through the doors, vibrating through my clothes to thaw my limbs. The sweet and cheerfully spicy scent of hard cider fills the air.

I make my way through the tavern to the loudest, rowdiest table in the room glowing in the light of heavy oil lanterns. The men who sit around it are huge, made even bulkier by thick fur coats. Marked by their travels with scars and grime, the big men play cards to pass the time between adventures. A never-ending pile of dirty dishes sits at the edge of the table, constantly being ferried to and fro by server boys. No barkeep would put up with them if it wasn't for the continuous stream of gold that came with them.

"E-Excuse me?" I stammer. Guffawed laughter drowns me out.

I try again, "Excuse me? Is this the Hunter's Guild?" A little louder this time.

"Out of the way, short stuff." A chair scrapes as one of the guild members gets to his feet. I almost fall over when he pushes past - and then the stench nearly finishes the job. My hands tremble on the strap of the pack I wear. Then I tear it off and slam it down in the middle of the table. Cards fly in all directions. The guild looks at me with eyes that could kill, but even if they could, they wouldn't need the help. I quickly unbuckle the pack to reveal the gleam of gold. _That_ takes their eyes off me...

"I have coin," I mention.

One of the travelers grins at me.

"Well, why didn't you just say so the first time?" He takes my hand in a tan grip and shakes it, introducing himself. "Zafar al Shafali, Hunter's Guild. What can we do for you?"

"I have a job for you." I clench my fists. Unclench them. "My friend was taken by a _monster_."

"Not surprised." The casual toss of Zafar's shoulders is not the reaction I was hoping for. "There have been so many kidnappings in the area this month," Zafar nods. "Folks are saying it might be a werewolf."

"We were traveling in the Forests of Frost when it happened. He was snatched from our tent. Please, you have to help me..."

"You're in luck! That's what we do here in the Hunter's Guild..." Zafar takes a swig of his drink. "-Is what I _would_ have said if it wasn't peak winter. Only an idiot would venture into Frost at a time like this."

"I can't wait until spring to go looking for him!" I cry, "By then, that thing would have eaten him for a snack!"

The hunters exchange glances, mumbling while I look between them. Abruptly, the man at the far side of the table stands up. He wears a thick, forest green cloak with a hood edged in toasty brown fur.  

"I'll take you through Frost," he says.

A wave of relief washes over me.

"Thank you... Oh, thank you-" I reach for his hand to hold but he crosses both muscular arms over his chest.

"Rule number 1, don't touch me." I clasp my hands together, chastened. "Rule number two," He goes on, "Payment up front."

"I don't know how to be more upfront than dumping a bag of gold on your table," I say under my breath. I think I see a smile in the shadows of his hood. He reaches up to toss it back, revealing curly hair the shade of cobalt. The color hypnotizes me with its nearly metallic sheen.

"And rule number three, you do whatever I tell you."

I snap out of it, nodding vigorously. His teammates are less enthused.

"Boss, I don't think that's a good idea," says Zafar.

"Zafar," the leader says sharply. Then softens his voice, teasing. "How can you say no to a face like that?" My face grows warm. "I should warn you, though," The boss sobers. "You might be paying a lot of money for a frozen corpse."

"I don't care; I have to try. He's worth it, to _try_ ." I'm going to find him. I _will._

"I hope you're still saying that when night falls."

 

My boots crunch through snow so deep that I have to wrench each leg from an individual ice trap before taking another step forward, only to fall into another one. The hunter moves much more quickly, his coily blue hair blowing in the wind. He marks the trees as we go with smears of yellow paint. The same color as his eyes.

The forests are perpetually silent except for the low, whistling howl of icy wind between leafless trees. The inside of my head, on the other hand, is far from silent. I let one of the thoughts escape, "Do you really think there's a werewolf in the woods?"

He glances over his shoulder at me. " _I_ think there's a whole pack of werewolves."

"What?" I burst out. "That's even worse!"

"Hey, you didn't ask for good news."

Silence prevails until I muster up the courage to point out, "You didn't tell me your name."

"Sterling. Sylphos Sterling."

"I'm Flaere Hunter. But you can call me Flaere."

"You can call me Sterling," he adds abruptly.

Sylphos slides over an icy rock to land in a clearing.

I gaze around at a destroyed firepit and cookware lying under inches of snow. A slashed tent blows in the wind like a tattered flag.

"Is this the place?" he asks.

"Yes," I say through a tight throat. "This is the place."

Sylphos grips the edge of the tent and tugs it free, shaking snow out with a single whip of the fabric. He scrutinizes the jagged claw marks in the ruined khaki cloth: a set of parallel gashes. Made by a _monster._

"This is what I was worried about," he sighs. "When did you say this happened?"

"A-A couple of days ago, I don't know exactly."

" _Look at this place!_ " Sylphos suddenly raises his voice to fill the clearing as he gestures around. "It's been almost a _month!_ And you didn't seek help. You were a fool and if your friend is dead, _it's on you!_ "

"No! _No!_ " I argue in the same tone as I plead with him. "He's alive!" _It has to be true._ I start frantically pulling on the timeline, reeling it back in hand over hand in my brain. "H-He went missing, so I went looking for him. That was just a few days ago. I kept searching and _searching_... But I couldn't find him, so I wandered into town... And then they told me about your guild! So I came to the tavern... And-And that was just a few hours ago, so..."

"Shut up!" Sylphos thrusts his palm at me like a dam to block the flow of my words. His sharp yellow eyes dart over the snow drifts. "I see it..."

"What?" I whisper.

"A _trail._ "

My breath escapes me in a gasp, then I have to suck in air to replace it: cold air which dries out my lungs. I'm coughing when Sylphos starts to sprint between the trees. "W-Wait for me!" I croak.

I follow Sylphos on a mad dash through the forest; the way he moves looks totally random but the way he does it is calculated down to every last flex of a muscle. The bright blue banner of hair keeps me on track.

He only slows down when we reach the yawning mouth of a cave. It almost seems to groan at us.

"In there," Sylphos says quietly. A rustle of cloaks makes me realize he is drawing a crossbow. As an afterthought, he offers me a spare dagger which I accept instantly. "Do you know how to use it?" he asks me.

I shake my head rapidly from side to side.

"You really have no business being in these woods, do you?" he grumbles. Sylphos leads the way into the cave.

The rocky floor is wet and treacherous. The cold breath of the cave chills me to the bone. I place each foot fully flat on the icy surface, peel the backfoot before continuing.

"I think I see something," Sylphos hisses. He raises his crossbow and slings himself around a stalagmite - I'm right behind him -

Then I see his broad shoulders drop into a grave slope.

"What is it?" In response, he angles himself out of the way. I take in a low, shuddering breath.

A small pile of twigs and branches is heaped in the center of the cavern. Damp and worthless now, but charred at the ends like matchsticks as if they were attempted to be used as kindling. Someone was here. Someone who was once wearing the shreds of clothing now scattered over the rocks...

"No... No, no, _no..._ " One foot. In front of the other. I drift toward the bloodstain on the floor. The way the blood shines over a mottled rock surface: pock-marks and irregular ridges glazed in wet red, is obscene. It doesn't look _real._ Something cold and wet falls on my nose and causes me to blink. I look up.

Like raindrops on the glass.

_Drip._

Like snowflakes on tent canvas.

 _Drip._  

The ceiling is plastered in blood.

 

***

 

"No... No, no, _no..._ " Matteo moaned. He threw himself down in the snow, "It was supposed to be here!" He was digging desperately as if the snow held a secret. But he wasn't unearthing anything, he was digging graves for pieces of himself that wouldn't come to be. His gloves were becoming wet and soiled.

"Matteo, there's nothing there," I told him quietly.

" _Quiet!_ " he yelled back at me, but his tone lacked teeth.

"Matteo, don't you see?" I clenched a fist. "It's not there... Because there _is_ no rock. It's a fairy tale, Matteo. Just a _legend._ "

"You're _lying!_ " I didn't expect him to throw himself at me; all I could do was hold him as he beat at my chest. "It's real! It has to be real, it-" He let out a great, shuddering sob, slumping against me as he streaked my coat with tears. My heart ached, but I couldn't be sure if I was sympathizing with him or willing him to realize he'd already found what he was looking for.

"Or what?" I questioned him instead.

"I can't do this anymore..." He warbled through tears. Both tan fists tightened on my coat. "I won't let another man put his filthy hands on me..." He took in a ragged breath. "Just for a handful of coin..." I couldn't do it anymore either. _I wish I could tell you._

"We don't need that rock."

"How can you say that?"

_Because I can make my own wishes come true._

"Stay with me!" I seized his face in both hands and bored into those deep blue eyes with my own steel greys. " _Stay!_ I won't let you spend a single night more on the streets..." Then my hands were on his shoulders, cupping them sensually before sliding down over his arms. "No man will ever put his hands on you again..." And locked down around his wrists. "Except for _me._ "

There was terror in his eyes. There was just as much defiance there. "So what you suggest is to trade one form of prostitution for another? At least the former doesn't lie about what we are..."

"You lie!" He flinched when I yelled it at him. " _You_ lie about what we are!"

He shook his head, saying desperately through a fresh round of tears. "It's the truth! It's the truth of how we started and now it's all we can ever be!"

" _Matteo!_ "

He shrieked then because I had struck him across the face. My eyes widened while I paled. My legs felt weak. "I... I..."

Matteo's plush lip trembled for a while. Then he threw himself at me, screaming as he tore at his own clothes.

"Take it then, if that's what you want!" Revealing a sculpted expanse of amber skin. He grabbed my frozen arm and shoved it into his own shirt. My fingers ran, confused but lustful, over a heaving body. Traced the shape of his ribs pushed to the skin of his chest. Then he was tugging at my clothes, ripping away the buttons. "Oh you are such a miser," He was saying feverishly. "You are tired of paying for it, so now you want it for free! You are so _cruel_..."

"That's not..." He cut me off with an inflamed kiss. Hands crushing my face like a vice as his tongue lashed at my own. As I grabbed him around the hip and wrenched his leg up against my side, he released a ragged moan in my mouth.

I only awoke hours later. I stared at the fabric of the tent billowing over my head for a time before I realized he was missing from the spot next to me. As I sat up, the blanket pooled in my lap, protecting my decency but leaving my bare chest revealed to the bitter cold. I saw a shape outside the tent and hastily stuck both legs into my trousers. I had a feeling he'd seen enough of what was inside of them for one night...

Matteo's naked body was wrapped in a blanket as he hunched outside. His black hair was messy where I dragged my fingers through it.  He rocked gently back and forth on his heels.

"We shouldn't have done that." Back and forth.

"Matteo..."

"We should _not_ have done that." Back and forth.

I asked hopefully, "Would it make you feel better if I paid you?" He paused to let his forehead hit his knees.

"No Flaere, it would not." I attempt to put an arm around him, but it made me realize Matteo was hot to the touch.

"You're burning up..." I looked him over, concerned. Then I could see his face was flushed with more than embarrassment. "Wait here!" I cried, "I'll fetch water!"

 

***

 

I'm screaming. Screaming at the ceiling until there is no more air in my lungs shriveled like raisins. My clothes are _bloody._

"Get ahold of yourself!" Brawny arms lock around my middle. They're the wrong arms - _they're the wrong arms!_

" _Let go of me!_ " I lash out violently without managing to break free, but I cause him to fall back onto the cold rock floor. He wraps his legs around me too, pinning my thrashing limbs to my body.

"He's gone, Flaere! He's gone; there's nothing you can do! Look- look at this-" He brings a strange, wet clump of off-white fur before my face. What does it _mean_ . "It's werewolf fur. There's heaps of it. He was killed; I'm _sorry_."

"No..." The exhaustion of knowing the truth reduces my struggles to pathetic twitching in the big hunter's arms. I feel them relaxing around me as I finally allow myself to rest my full weight on his chest. It feels like a furnace: warm and expanding gently behind me. My eyelids slip shut.

 

Light blooms and contracts against the wall of the tent. Snow makes it sag inwardly. But everything is different now. Sylphos' tent is old and worn out; mended in several places with patches of cloth. The material for one of the patches was poorly chosen and now drips in the corner with a steady but disruptive rhythm. I sit with my blanket wrapped around my shoulders, across the lantern from Sylphos. He's so different. For one thing, he takes up so much more space, almost filling out his half of the tent. He has to bow his back so he doesn't graze the sloped walls of the tent. Instead of maps and pencils, he has weapons laid out in front of him.

Sylphos cleans frost from one of his daggers with a cloth and holds it into the air, frowning. Lantern light cuts itself into small, bright bars on the serrated edge. He senses my gaze and yellow eyes flick to meet mine. I stare back, blank. Accusing him with my eyes of being someone else.

"What is it?" he demands.

"Nothing." I rummage listlessly in my pack for what, I can't be sure, but I hope it will be enough to plug this hole in my chest. My fingers chance on the waxy surface of a package tied with twine. _What is..._ I bring it into my lap and unravel it. Waxed paper falls open under the weight of small, circular tea biscuits. The sight of them astonishes me until I remember: stopping by Matteo's favorite bakery and hastily pushing coin over the counter for a package of his favorite treats. He always brought his own. And I always brought extra. _Why did it have to be-_ Tears well in my eyes, blending the biscuits together in an almond-colored blur. The same color as his fingers once were on my chest.

Sylphos narrows his eyes at me. "If you start crying, I'm quitting."

"It's already over," I say in a halting voice. I don't want to look at him - this _wrong person_ in my tent - so I borrow a move from Matteo, turn around and lie down, curled up under a thin blanket.

I hear a small sigh over my shoulder and then movement. A body comes to rest near me. Sylphos smells like metal polish and worn leather. The fresh air of the forest. _Pines._ He wraps a muscular arm around me from behind as his larger body curls to bracket mine.

"What are you doing?" I ask barely above a whisper.

"You looked cold." Not anymore. The hunter radiates like a hearth, compounding the feeling by enveloping me in the extra length of his cloak. The inner fur lining is so soft and warm. I grip it gently. "I wish we could have found him," he says.

"Wishing never did me any good." I stare into the package of biscuits before selecting one to nibble on. Chestnut brown fingers dip into my view to steal a second one. I hear crunching over my head; crumbs settle in my hair.

"Hey." The corner of my lips pull in a direction that feels familiar.

"Sorry." The hunter sounds amused as he brushes my orange hair.

My mood flickers like the lantern. "You don't have to be nice to me just because I paid you."

"I'm not nice to anyone whether they pay me or not," Sylphos says dryly. "If I'm nice to you..." I'm suddenly focused as his hand travels over my side. "It's because I want to be." Strange, conflicted feelings breed in my chest. I feel good but guilty. Good when he touches my crotch experimentally. _Guilty_ when I turn over on top of Sylphos to look him in the eyes. Sulfurous yellow stares back. Laying on the sumptuous sheets of his hair and fur cloak, he doesn't stop me as I dip to his neck and put a soft kiss there. Good. _Good, good, good._ Like the warmth between the sheets, between myself and Matteo - not that there was ever much space between us. I draw back abruptly and ask,

"Is this pity sex?"

Sylphos sets his lids in lowered line. "Definitely." Guilty. Guilty like cold morning-afters, naked and alone.

"You're awful..."

"Hey, you didn't ask for good news." But he... He doesn't feel things like guilt, does he?

"Shut up, would you..." I shut him up with my lips.

Sylphos' lips curl into a smile over mine. I can't believe my luck as he wraps both legs securely around my torso, offering himself up as the conquest that we failed to find.

 

When I wake up, I'm alone again. This bad habit all my lovers seem to share is starting to get depressing. Sylphos left in a hurry, leaving his things strewn around the tent. I set his traveling pack upright with a small sigh, and that's when I notice the tattered brown corner of a sheet of parchment sticking out. It has a face on it. Carefully drawing the sheet free, I hold it to the light: a Missing poster with a hefty reward advertised for the young man's return. 'Last seen: Outskirts of Frost Forests'. Posters like that one fill his pack. I pull them out one after the other, trying to commit each face to memory, but they start to blend together. The hunters weren't kidding about the rash of kidnappings. The next sheet I pull out makes me freeze. Because it isn't a Missing poster.

It's a _map_ . _It can't be..._ But there's no denying the handwritten notes in the corners of the map, put there so carefully. Generally dog-shaped doodles.

 _Matteo's map_.

 

***

 

I rushed to the nearby spring for water. Just frosted at the edges, the reflection of the full moon shone in the center. I dashed it with ripples to refill a water skin. That was when I heard it: a _scream_.

"Matteo?" The waterskin hit the ground, gushing over twigs and leaves.

At the edge of our campsite, I froze as if an invisible hand held me back. My gaze traveled from the destroyed fire - burnt twigs scattered all over the snow - to the sienna canvas of the tent now lopsided and breathing eerily through slash marks in the walls.

"Matteo?" I breathed. _Movement_. I caught sight of a shadow in the woods. A huge, dark shape larger than any man hulked between the branches. It turned its head - a single yellow eye fixed itself on me, driving all reason, all thought from my head. Then it dropped to all fours and bounded away into darkness.  

 

***  


_'There have been so many kidnappings in the area this month.'_

 

_'Payment up front.'_

 

_'It's been almost a month! And you didn't seek help. You were a fool and if your friend is dead, it's on you!'_

 

Sylphos stands in the frigid water of the spring up to his waist, naked, but he doesn't so much as shiver. Blue hair shields his form from view; the tips floating on the surface. It's as if he can sense my presence.

"What are you doing here, Flaere?" he asks without turning around.

"It was _you,_ " I accuse, "You - and your guild - you kidnap people from nearby towns and hold them hostage. Then you tell them some nonsensical fairytale about werewolves taking their loved ones so they'll shower you with gold to bring them back. And I..." Tears sting at my eyes. I blink them away angrily. "I was too late, wasn't I? You didn't get your ransom so you _slaughtered_ him. _"_

Sylphos doesn't answer right away. He draws his hair to one side, revealing a bare mahogany back and strong shoulder blades. It all felt so good just a short while ago... He wrings water casually from his locks.

"Did it take you all night to come up with that? At least - what small piece of it you didn't spend screwing a stranger minutes after learning about your so-called-friend's death."

" _Shut up!_ " The shout tears itself from the depths of a raw throat. I raise Sylphos' crossbow and point it at him, trembling. "You'll pay for what you did to him."

"Would it make you feel better if I told you that everything you said is true? Everything except for one..." The water ripples as Sylphos finally turns around, catching the light as the moon breaks between a cloudbank. Pale silver moonlight twists into the curls of his hair- they _glow_ . "It was no _fairytale._ "

And then it's racing over his skin: patches of blue fur lit with moonlight. His spine makes an awful, snapping noise as he throws himself forward, doubled over, then lengthens out, pushing horrible growth to the surface of his skin. Sylphos was already muscular, but every sinew pulses with strength now. I see veins bulging under the surface moments before they're covered in a layer of thick fur.

Hands twist and claws push from the cuticles as Sylphos' growls of pain turn louder and more guttural. They finally emerge in a snarl as black, canine lips pull back from an elongating muzzle. His razor-sharp teeth are silver, like the moon glinting over them. Then he howls back at it: a long, haunting sound like the frigid air funneling through the cave, only so much more powerful. It's not just a howl after all, but an introduction to a brand new side of him: the _werewolf._

I clamp a hand over my mouth, shaking as Sylphos drops his head again. He stands before me - _transformed_ \- a giant of thick cerulean fur, sculpted muscle and a wolf's head. His terrifying jaws hang open; he laughs at my wide-eyed expression.

Then he fixes those yellow eyes on me and says, " _Run_ , bitch."

 

I tear through the forest, gasping for air as branches scrape at my face and hands. Cold air in, cold air out, and my entire chest hurts as if frozen solid from the inside. _He's going to catch me._

"You weren't a bad lay, Flaere!" the werewolf's voice echoes after me. Then suddenly, it's inches away from me. "Maybe I'll keep you for a brood bitch." The entire right side of my torso explodes in pain as claws rake through flesh. Blood splatters the tree trunks; the blow knocked me against the rough bark of a pine. I don't even have the energy to scream - just groaning in agony as I clutch my side. I'm shocked to feel a strange, squelching sliminess there. Unnatural shades of pink, red and maroon push through the deep gashes in my flesh. I fall on my hands and knees, crawling in a slick of my own gore.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sylphos' taunting voice lights a panic in me moments before he tugs sharply on my ankle. I fall flat on my belly and look over my shoulder to see him raise my leg. He examines a wickedly sharp claw as casually as he might one of his other hunting tools before punching it through my ankle.

I scream as he saws his way through the back, slicing every tendon and ligament in the way. My useless foot falls to the snow, barely attached and twisted at an unnatural angle now. Sick anticipation rises in my throat as he lifts the other ankle to repeat the action.

I feel helpless, tossed around like prey as the beast flips me on my back. I start to breathe hard again. Sylphos leans over me, radiating brutal heat. "Spare me," I beg with the last of the sanity he has yet to boil from my head.

"Hmmm, there's a thought..." Sylphos muses as he taps a claw over my lips. "Tell me. If you were to say, go _missing_ , would anyone come asking for you? Someone with a lot of gold, perhaps..." My mouth trembles without opening. "That's a shame." Sharp black claws latch down around my skull, the edges level with my hairline. "At least your scalp will make a useful prop to scare the next batch of gullible fools with too much coin..." _My sca-_

"P-Please no-!" But I can already feel his claws slicing in, flaying flesh from bone. I force my eyes open where they were squeezed shut in intense agony because I want to _see_.

The last thing my love ever saw.

Instead, I see a pair of jaws emerging from the darkness, opening wide around Sylphos' throat. Moments before they snap shut like a bear trap.

Sylphos is ripped away from his plaything. A dark, furry beast shakes him from side-to-side by the throat like a ragdoll while he snaps and claws desperately at empty air. The creature pushes him down into the snow, tightening its hold. The snarling becomes panicked before transforming into high-pitched whines. The beast twists its head sharply to one side. A single piercing note - and then the forest is silent again. Watching with wide eyes, I see the second beast rise from the unmoving blue shape as crimson slowly percolates through white snow.

Another werewolf. It walks this way, body expanding with strength as paws crunch through ice and snow.

"Please..." I whimper, hugging spilled insides closer to my body. It crouches in front of me: the great beast with black fur. The breath from its muzzle feels hot against my face. That's when I gather the courage to look into its eyes. I blink slowly, peering into the werewolf's deep blues. Wait.

"M-Matteo?" I whisper. The werewolf's fluffy tail start to wag. " _Matteo!_ " I shout his name, wrapping my arms weakly around a thick, sinewy neck. "Matteo, you're alive!" Tears of relief warm my cheeks. A paw lands on my back.

"Flaere. I missed you."

"B-But how?"

"I guess I got what I wished for after all." He tilts his wolfish head to a side. "A better life."

I remember. "No... No, you don't understand. H-His pack will come after you. They'll hunt you down."

"Then..." Matteo drags a long pink tongue along my cheek. "Will you stay with me?"

I inhale slowly, and for a moment, I can't feel my catastrophic injuries. They aren't there.

"Do you even have to ask?" He brightens.

Matteo's fangs sink into my shoulder. I furrow my brow and let out a tiny grunt of pain, but he does it as gently as he can. When the light of the moon hits my skin, it feels different. It feels like _strength_.

The crease in my forehead smoothens out. As moonlight washes over me, it rolls new skin over old wounds before filling my muscles and bones with so much pure, unadulterated energy that they can't _help_ but grow. The forest doesn't feel cold anymore as burnished orange fur coats a new body rising to meet Matteo's. We can finally stand face to face, embracing each other as my tongue lengthens into his jaws. He tastes like blood, but it _excites_ me.

When we come apart, I touch his pointed ear, fascinated as I watch it flick playfully. He giggles, gesturing at my paws in the snow. "Hey, it looks like you got your wish too."

I wiggle them and let out an abrupt laugh. "Yeah, I did..."  Then I cup his face to look into his eyes.

"You were right," I say softly, "Different is better."

Placing his claws gently on my chest, he nuzzles me, affectionate. "But only because you never change."

 

###

 

"So... So what did you think of that one?" asks Flaere.

"I'm mostly just impressed that you managed to tell it while running for your life." I gasp for air.

"Cardio," he explains simply.

"Well, I thought it was a great story," Sylphos comments.

"But you _died_ in it," I remind him.

"Right," The sniper grins. "But I was awesome first."

Finn adds, "I love a horror story with a happy ending."

"Am I the only one here who cares about our _real lives ending right now?!"_ Jun erupts.

"Hey smart guy, we're waiting for you to come up with a plan," I tease.

Jun grumbles to himself as he scans the treeline for ideas. I'll admit, it doesn't look very inspiring. Then his eyes alight on a dark spot peering over the shrub line. "There! There's a cave! We'll force them to funnel themselves toward us..."

"But we'd also be sealing ourselves in," Sylphos points out.

"Better than being separated and picked off one by one in the woods. Besides," The purple-haired strategist draws his rifle. "We're the superior species here. Right"

"It's decided then." We set our sights on the cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My new favorite ship???


End file.
